Se Redresser de L'esprit
by The Triangle Prone
Summary: Why is it so hard to be a good brother when there's an age gap of 15 years? Francis and Matthew didn't really know, but they're going to have to fix that gap when Matthew's test results come back and he can't fight his cancer. Family FrAnada, Romantic FrUk, AmeCan and Friendship PurCanAme T for the overuse of "Shit"
1. Diagnosis

Disclaimer: I own not _Hetalia_ just the plot line. Some of this words belong to an RP partner and have been rearranged to better suit the story. With her permission of course.

As the summery says, this deals with Cancer. At any time does this story become too much, feel free to stop.

* * *

The Bonnefoys were rather spiritual people. No, no not overly religious spiritual, despite the heavy Catholic background. No, the lovely parents of Matthew and Francis Bonnefoy were first class hippy. Well they were yippies, and rich ones at that. So, at a seemingly random moment in their younger son's life, packed up three backpacks and took the housekeeper with them on some soul-searching journey across the world. Thus they dumped the junior in high school onto his older brother's lap. For the most part the event was no surprise for the brothers.

But neither was it really comfortable for them. Like most siblings with a sizable age gap between them, they got along more like acquaintances rather than close family. It didn't help that they viewed and enjoyed the world differently. Francis preferred wines and cigarettes while seeing the cynical arts, Matthew saw flaws and kindness hand-in-hand and saw the real beauty of nature.

But, what were siblings for when parents went out of town?

Sometimes Francis didn't believe that Matthew was his brother. They were much too different- and well, Francis was quite the age older. He didn't mind the age gap, despite the fact it probably made him a little... Well, lets just say they were not the closest of brothers. Or even friends. Oh, no, Francis never minded staying with his younger, definitely mature brother. Still. Too young- the gap was too big, and even if Francis wanted to bond, he would not be able to. How could he, be born again? Just maybe a year older than the other?

As if that could happen.

Then there was Matthew, who couldn't tell if it upset Francis to have him around nor did he really care. He felt weak. Lately nothing felt right. The sun was too bright, noises too loud. The street went topsy-turvy on occassion. He didn't know what was wrong but neither did he seek an answer. The younger simply didn't want to worry anyone.

And he became too scared to when he coughed up blood the first time.

And became too embarrassed when he started to faint.

He swore his friends not to say a word when those things were joined by his stomach rejecting food.

But none of that mattered when his normally quick showers of ten minutes stretched to a worrisome hour. Even Francis would worry (perhaps only about his water bill) when the noise of falling water lingered too long.

Especially when the falling water started making a miniature lake in the hallway.

Matthew was taking too long in the shower. He usually took a measly fifteen minutes-at most, which always made Francis think that he wasn't clean enough. One had to admit that a teenage boy scent was not one to be too fond of. Even though it was mostly a friend of Matthew's who smelt like grease. He shuddered at the thought. But frowned as he realized his water bill was going to rise. Not like he minded, really- but he could be using that money to buy shoes.

Standing up, Francis went upstairs, humming a bit to himself, but it stopped instantly as his foot was met with a trail of water that seemed to continue to slide down the corridor. His eyes widened, and his pace quickened, opening the door without a warning.

"Matthew?" he said, and ran into the bathroom, trying not to slip on the water, and he noticed his brother prone and unconscious.

"Shit," reaching into his pocket, he called the police and asked for an ambulance. His brother needed to go to the hospital. "C'mon, Mattie- Wake up-" he whispered, worried and feeling very, horribly, guilty.

The woman on dispatch confirmed that an ambulance was on the way and gently suggested that Francis carefully prod his brother's side...or at least stop the water and cover his brother so he wasn't indecent. It was a lucky night since Matthew forgot to lock the door as well.

He started to come to when the screeching of sirens reached through the walls of the house. There was a knock on the door and a blury transition of lights and sounds as he was manhandled from leaning over the tub (ow, his ribs cried in pain) to a stretcher and into a cramped car. Matthew vaguely recognised his brother's voice, octaves higher with distress talking to a paramedic.

"Shit," he groaned. This caught the paramedic's attention.

"At least there's one good sign, he's woken up."

The thoughts in Francis head screamed relief. This was so unexpected, heck Francis was more likely to be in one. Alcohol and all that jazz, but Matthew was a good boy. What was he doing in the bathtub, suddenly passing out like that? Hearing the swear come out of his brother's mouth, he shot towards him and took the others hand, squeezing it.

"You piece of _shit_!" he scolded, almost instantly, "You never told me you were fucking sick!" he said, and breathed in and out for a few seconds, heavily, to calm himself down. "Goddammit, Matthew- You can tell me these things, I'm your brother, for god's sake."

Francis sighed, and squeezed his hand again, "We're going to the hospital, okay? And once you can speak properly without sounding like a tree is stuck in your throat, you're telling me whats going on with your body."

Guilt swelled in Francis' chest soon after the words left his mouth. His brother did just wake up and still looked rather dazed. "I'm sorry- I'm just worried."

Matthew couldn't help it when Francis announced his worry for him, he snorted in disbelief. After all in the span of three minutes he the word 'shit' had been tossed around thrice, once calling Matthew the insulting form of it, Francis was the one riding beside him in an ambulance instead of it being the ever believed opposite way, and the older blond said 'brother' and acted like it _meant_ something to either of them.

So yeah, when Francis announced that he was feeling worried over Matthew- well everyone was allowed one moment to scoff at the impossible, right?

Francis felt only slightly hurt at the scoff. Fine, don't believe me then, he thought to himself as he reached in his pocket to grab a cigarette- then he remembered that he was probably not allowed to actually smoke in a hospital. That would be morally incorrect. Stupid boy wasn't even grateful that he was using his time to haul his immobile body out of the damn bathtub. The Frenchman rolled his eyes at the memory, but sighed and pushed the box of cigarettes further into his pants. He could put it off until later.

Now, the younger wasn't for lying, so he couldn't say that he wasn't sick. He couldn't say everything was fine. He could remain silent and shoot dubious looks at his brother. It wasn't like Matthew knew what he was sick with, so maybe hallucinating a more caring Francis was a side effect.

Matthew never answered Francis though. Made sense, with his little scoff. Okay, maybe he was a little more than hurt, but that was only because the one time he did something nice, it was brushed off like that. Maybe they did have something in common. They were both assholes at times.

The ride to the hospital soon was over. The manhandling returned as he was moved from the gurney to a wheelchair and then onto a reclining bed. The room felt too stirile, lights too bright and the bleeps of his own heart too loud. When he was given water it tasted bitter without the minerals. A doctor came in and said from the paramedic's analysis Matthew was suffering from a concussion. Then Francis was asked if they could run tests on his brother just to make sure it wasn't something more serious.

"Yea, of course," he mumbled to the doctor when they asked for permission. More serious? Like... This could get worse? Francis felt his heart sink slightly.

Matthew would be fine. He usually was.

_Yea. Of course. He will._ Francis thought.


	2. Reality

Disclaimer: Still don't own _Hetalia_. And uh, prep your feels.

* * *

Francis sat down next to the bed, and looked at the other blonde. He watched the younger mess with the hem of the blanket over him. "... So. Feeling a little better?"

"Not really." Matthew said and sucked his teeth. His brother brought him to the hospital, how was he supposed to feel better? "This is stupid, I don't have a concussion."

Oh, but later he did wish it was just a concussion. After an MRI showed no signs of a concussion ("_Hah, told you, take me home_.") blood work and x-rays were drawn and taken. It was a grueling five hours and the results life changing.

Around ten the next morning a lanky blond with a permanent set of bed-head and acid green eyes came in with the head nurse.

"Mr. Bonnefoy," he started and was interrupted by Matthew lifting his cheek off his hand and asking, "which one?"

"Matthew."

"Oh, well what abo' me?"

"Ah, well you see..." The man appeared to be British and now at a loss of words when he saw how _disinterested_ the patient seemed to be in his own prognosis. So he turned to the other, older Bonnefoy...Wait, just what was their relationship? Shaking his head he gathered the words, "we found a series of tumors."

_Who the fuck was this?_ He didn't look like a doctor. He looked like he just woke up from a very comfy nap- something that Francis wanted badly from this entire situation. Oh god, he had a fucking English accent. Francis didn't like him already, but the blond might just be a little annoyed at how his stupid little brother was an idiot.

Wait-Series of tumors.

Francis felt the breath in his chest stop for a bit as his eyes widened, and he looked at the doctor. Or whatever he was. "... Are you- Are you suggesting that Matthew has cancer?" he asked in a small voice, leaning back into his plastic chair, which felt horribly cold at the moment.

God, this couldn't be happening right now.

"I'm not suggesting, I'm stating. He has cancer." The Englishman said as simply as he could. "I'm Arthur Kirkland and I've been assigned to be your medical caretaker."

"My what?" Matthew seemed more accepting to the news than his brother. But what the heck is this Brit going on about?

"Medical Caretaker, a take home nurse if you would. We are aware your parents are...unreachable and by such the government dictates you have someone of my profession assigned to you."

"So, you're my new babysitter? The only difference is you're going to pump me full of pills and IVs to make sure I live longer instead of downing wine like it's Jesus Water and making the Caterpillar's hookah jealous with your smoking habits?"

"...Effectively." Arthur wasn't sure what Matthew was getting at or whom he was being compared to.

"Can I move back into my parent's house?"

"Had we been able to contact them and asked."

"Shit."

_Oh my god._ Francis thought, why was Matthew taking this so casually? It was as if Matthew was told he had a fucking cut on his pinky finger that would stop hurting after an hour, five minutes. Listening to the two talk, and he was going to go tell Matthew how he should be more serious about the goddamn cancer until he heard the others sarcastic comments. Glaring at his brother, he huffed and muttered almost to himself, "Immature prick."

"So you'll be living with us then? Effectively?" he asked, repeating what the other said, right- sorry- Arthur Kirkland. Rolling his eyes, he sighed and ran a hand through his hair. Thankfully they had quite a nice, big house- making it even harder for the two brothers to get along. Not liking the idea of someone coming in and out of the house like it was alright, he added, "... Can't I just take care of him, he's my brother."

"Oh sure, do you know how to put IVs in and how to set up the bags?" Arthur seemed to have caught on to who Matthew had been comparing him to. "Or what foods someone with gastric tumors should eat?"

While Arthur offered skills only a trained medical professional could know, Matthew worked his jaw. Tumours in his stomach...ah and apparently enough of his lungs. He mused if he had any in his mind, just to see. While the head nurse fixed his IVs, he asked her quietly, "why aren't they discussing treatment options? Is some tumors an understatement or are they that big?"

"There aren't any treatment options, sweetie. I'm sorry but it wasn't caught early enough."

"I see..." So he did this to himself. Well he had to live with that. As the nurse left, the teen wiped his eyes. Stupid tears.

Twitching slightly at what the Briton said, Francis hesitantly shook his head, admitting to the fact that he would never be able to really, truly take care of his brother. God, why was he so useless- and Matthew obviously made it clear that he hated him. Apparently he was a raging alcoholic, and his 'addiction' to cigare-

Francis heard a sniff.

Turning to glance at his brother, he saw the tears, and he knew that Matthew knew. It wasn't going to work. He was going to...He didn't want to say the word. Francis rummaged through his bag, and handed a tissue to his brother, putting it on his lap. Just lightly.

"... Alright. Are you bringing your things over? Should I get a room ready?"

Arthur heard the sniff too. Reality had set in for the teen then. He took the Frenchman's words as his cue to leave. "My own room would be preferable, close to Matthew would be better."

With that he left.

And Matthew took the tissue. Touching the soft papery cloth only made the dam break open and unshed tears burst out like tameless rivers. He was going to die before his stupid older brother. God was cruel, life even crueler. Matthew always thought he would attend his brother and parent's funeral, not his brother hosting his because their parents don't even know.

Dear god, what was he going to tell his friends? "Sorry, Alfie, Gil, I can't make graduation, I'll be six feet down"?

As if.

Blindly the not-quite-17-year-old reached out. His inner, scared child needed touch, comfort. "I don't want to have cancer." he sobbed, then added in a whisper.

"I don't want to die."

Somehow, Francis was thankful that the other man had left the room, and the blonde stood from his seat, giving the Briton a nod as he left, before he turned to see his baby brother just sobbing. Fuck. A lump formed in his throat, and he held onto the others hand tightly, going closer to pull him into an almost too tight hug. What could he say? Everything was going to be okay?

Francis didn't like to lie either.

At least not to Matthew.

"... I know, I know," he said softly, a hand reaching up to stroke his hair gently, hoping to calm him down just a bit. "... I'm sorry, Matthew- If I knew earlier- If I would've just- Cared a little more- I just- God, Matthew, I'm_ so sorry_," he breathed out. Then realized he was crying himself as he felt the tears slowly slide down his cheeks. No- You had to be strong at times like these.

Matthew wasn't sure why, but his brother blaming himself for not getting him to a hospital before this made him cry harder. It wasn't Francis' fault, Matthew had hidden and ignored this. Caring more would have probably made this worse than it was.

And really, how much worse could this get? He was broken enough as it was.

So they spent the next fifteen minutes like this, just cradling each other, clinging to each other as if they were twins, not nearly a decade and a half apart. When Matthew pulled back he sucked his teeth out of habit. "We'll be okay...Eventually."


	3. Homeward Bound

How long had it been since he had held Matthew like this? Ten years? Twelve? His heart clenched in the most terrible way possible, but the embrace stayed just as tight, as the silence was slightly calming after the crying session. It hurt him. He had been such a shitty brother- and now Matthew was going to die. Before him. He didn't even know how long the other had. Not that he wanted to think about it.

It'd just make him cry again.

"... Yea," he said, hoarsely as he pulled away and shoved his hands into his pockets, and looked at his brother. "... I know I don't show it very often," or at all, "But I love you. Sounds cheesy as fuck, but I do, alright?"

For the first time in an all too long time Matthew laught because of his brother. Even with his tear stained cheeks and red rimmed eyes, the younger blonde's lips pulled into a wide grin and laughter escaped him. It was a good laugh, not mocking or forced. It was a good, clean laugh of bliss. He wasn't laughing because Francis was lying, he knew his brother didn't lie to him.

No, it was a laugh of relief, a laugh of acceptance, a laugh of love.

Once Matthew's mouth opened to let out a laugh, Francis's cheeks went slightly pink, feeling like he was being mocked- until he realized what the other was laughing at. Oh. Now he felt a little stupid.

"I know." Matthew said as he used the stupid hospital blanket to wipe the snot from his nose and drool from his chin. "God, crying is gross."

The Frenchman punched him playfully on the shoulder and huffed, "Crying is gross, but kind of manly. In a way. I don't know,"

"Eh, whatever." Smiling at his brother with a small shrug, he looked at the clock, pulling up the other's blanket and said, "Matthew, you need to sleep. I'm going to speak to Arthur- Mr. Kirkland, sleep."

"Hey, hey get a new blanket at least. Eeeew gross, gross!" Despite having passed out the night before and crying just minutes before he had enough energy to thrash around and kick the blanket off him. "Truck me in right dammit."

The taller blonde rolled his eyes and nodded, then let the bed slowly recline down with a button, and he pulled the blankets up again, tucking Matthew in properly. "Goodnight, stupid," he mumbled, and leaned down to give his forehead a small peck, "Gross but whatever."

Matthew huffed at the blanket being returned to his person. He may or may have not pouted like a five year old. "_Tu es trés stupide, Françis_."

"_Tais-toi_," Francis laughed and left the room, giving his shoulder a squeeze before going out of the room and looking at the nurse or whatever he was.

Outside of Matthew's room, Arthur was collecting needed medicine and papers that needed filling out. He turned to Francis when he approached. "Oh, hello."

"Hello. I'm- sorry for what you saw earlier- a little emotional."

"He's a teen, of course he'll cry. I'm surprised he lasted as long as he did. I almost thought he was in denial. I should apologise for how I spoke with you earlier. I'm sure you're not actually that reckless with your body." Arthur said with a small smile. "Now I have everything needed for Matthew and you can have him discharged as you see fit."

Laughing humorlessly at the others comment, Francis shrugged and sighed, deciding not to say anymore about his small pleasures in life that really did harm to him. "Alright. Here's my number. Well, I'm sure you have it already. From the files. I'll see you tomorrow then. I've already asked for him to be discharged and they said since you'd be there..." He sighed again. He didn't want to seem too rude, but nothing was going right today.

"Then here are the medicines he'll need tonight." Arthur opened up the rolling box that could also double as a professional makeup carrier and pulled free some pills. "And give him liquid foods. Until the pills are in regular use he'll just puke up any solid foods."

He'll just puke up any solid foods. His stomach dropped, and he felt the tears urging to spill again, but he stopped himself with sheer will power, and nodded as he took the pills. "Oh... Kay. Okay," he repeated, gripping the bottle of pills. "Just with water then?" He said in a small voice.

"A glass of water or pureed fruit." Arthur offered something with some substance, It took a moment but he caught onto Francis' emotions and tried to correct how casually he was treating this. "He'll be able to eat normally soon enough."

"Alright, alright," he nodded, keeping his posture calm, but his hands were trembling just slightly. He felt...he felt like, er well. Francis heaved a sigh before asking in a small voice. "Mr. Kirkland, is there really no cure for him?"

"I'm truly sorry Mr. Bonnefoy." Arthur replied as calmly as he could. He could see the Frenchman's hands betraying him. It was always painful to lose someone to cancer, especially someone so young. "Truly sorry."

"... Yea," his voice was choked, but he managed to speak. "Yea. Alright. Sorry for bothering, actually, could you come home with us?" He asked. When Arthur nodded with a small 'of course' Francis left and returned to his brother's hospital room again, sitting on the chair and leaning against the bed, hands still trembling slightly. God.

Matthew didn't stay asleep for long. How could he when his brother's presence was looming in the room already mourning him! Besides that damned beeping was annoying. Did he mention that he hated the hospital? When his blue eyes opened he let out a rather pathetic whine. "_Je voudrais rentrer à chez nous_."

The Frenchman actually laughed at the others little, annoyed whine, and he nodded, "_Je sais_," he mumbled back, and stood from the chair, stretching with a loud groan. "Should we drive Arthur home too? Right. He lives with us now."

"I thought he wasn't coming home with us." Matthew muttered, clearly not as awake as he thought. He did remember Arthur and Francis discussing the former coming over tomorrow. Personally? Matt was thankful it was the weekend. When school returned on Monday, so would normal life.

"Well, he is. Personal- carer or whatever he said he was," the Frenchman sighed and ran a hand through his hair, and went to grab a cigarette. Right. Hospital. Fuck. He needed to stop anyways. The blonde looked at his brother and said, "Ready to go back?"

"Medical caretaker." Matthew corrected then realised he didn't care for the term and shrugged. "Can we at least get him to deneedle and make the heart monitor stop reading me?"

"Yea- wait a bit, I'll go get him," he said, leaning a little closer to give his shoulder a squeeze before he left the room and looked around, "... Arthur?"

The Brit turned and raised a brow. What did Francis want now? He tilted his head slightly as he asked what was needed of him. Then he quickly nodded. "Of course."

Grabbing a pair of sterile gloves, Arthur went to the younger Bonnefoy's room and detached him from the IV drips and heart monitor. Watching Arthur slowly and carefully take the needles out felt like needles were being stuck into his own arm. Harshly. Well, to his heart- his poor, poor brother. Poor, young and beautiful- he wouldn't be able to see him get married. His heart clenched again. He put bandaids over the needle marks before backing up. "And there we are. Enjoy your evening."

"...You too?" Matthew asked rather than said. He got dressed in a hoodie and pants before standing in front of Francis. "Did you bring a car or are we bussing home?"

"Car, of course," he laughed, and shook his head. At some point during Matthew's hospital stay, the Frenchman had returned home to get his car. "You know how I need my own space,"

He grinned and opened the door for his brother. He couldn't help it as he watched the other past, he thought of Matthew dying. He won't be married, might not even make it to graduation, heck even his 17th birthday might be too far off. It depended how well the medicine worked. It wouldn't cure, but it could prolong the inevitable and make it less painful.

Matthew laught at his brother's words as he wandered into the hallway. Space was it? "I suppose you will have to enjoy it while you can since three is a crowd."

God, at least give him another birthday. Maybe two. Or four- Francis didn't know, he just wanted Matthew to stay as he heard that mocking laugh. At least stay until he was old. Legitimately old- the Frenchman pushed the thoughts aside, knowing that the negativity wouldn't help.

"I like you, but I don't know about Arthur. Seems a little... Uptight. Not a fun guy. A nurse," he teased.

Matthew paused and mused over bother his brother's words and his own thoughts. He wanted to graduate. He was even getting fancy stickers that proved he was an outstanding student and in the top ten of his class (so far.) He wanted to stand next to Alfred, Gilbert and Mags after graduation and pose for pictures then scold Gilbert and Mags for pda before getting swooped up by an over enthused Alfred.

Just because he wanted it didn't mean it'd happen. Their parents did always say "it is nice to want things." Even if that meant they weren't buying him something.

Coming back to reality he responded to his brother, "not a fun guy? Sounds like Alfie's opinion of you when you're slooshed." Matt battered back. He stopped walking and took a sharp inhale. "God, Alfred..."

"I'm very fun when slooshed, whatever the hell that is-" his eyes widened as his brother's words reached him. Oh god. Alfred. The best friend. Francis reached over to give his hand a squeeze, and he stared at the other male, "... Do you want me to tell him?" He asked, in a soft and reassuring voice despite the hard truth that Matthew wasn't going to be there. For long.

God.

What did Matthew do to possibly deserve this?

"N...No. I have to, this is my fault." Matthew bit out. He didn't want to, oh how he didn't want to. Hiding behind his brother wasn't much better of an option though. Yet he didn't know if his brother even remembered what the American looked like. Taking a deep breath he decided, "I'll tell them at school..."

For now, he'd keep walking, squeezing Francis' hand back before slipping out of the grip. "_Qu'est-ce manger pour dîner_?"

"... Okay, okay. If you say so," he said, walking alongside of the slightly shorter male on his side, listening to his always delightful French. "Something nice. Something you want to eat, alright? I'm pretty sure Arthur won't mind anything you'd like to eat- you know how good of a cook I am."

Speaking of Arthur, they should drive him too, shouldn't they.

Matthew hummed as he thought it over . He didn't want to admit that food wasn't on the top of his mind save to seem normal. "Then I want salmon."

Arthur would remind Francis that his brother couldn't have solid food. Still, he had to set up all of the stuff Matthew needed. Taking him home would be nice. Where was he?

"Then we'll have salmon," he said with a grin, and have his brothers back a gentle, but friendly pat before looking around for that blasted nurse. He knew Arthur wasn't one. But he sure seemed like one. The Frenchman called out, slightly obnoxiously, "Arthur? Arthur Kirkland?"

"Careful, saying his name might make the devil appear." Matthew teased and sure enough the Brit showed up, the makeup med kit in tow.

"Yes, what is it?" he asked the pair. Just what did they want from him? Where they really taking off that soon?

"Speak of the devil," Francis muttered back to the other as he chuckled and shook his head to the Briton, "Yes, we were just about to pick you up, actually," he said, eyeing the kit. Ugh. He'd have to get Arthur's room ready too.


End file.
